


Transformers: Out of the Wreckage

by Armoured_Swampert



Category: Transformers Fall of Cybertron, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1590662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armoured_Swampert/pseuds/Armoured_Swampert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the war threatens to go off-world, a new group of Wreckers are formed to combat the increasing amount of new special operations teams from the Decepticons. Pyro leads the team against the ambitious might of the Combaticons, whose leader holds a secret that could change Pyro's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cutting Choice

Pyro ducked under a rusted pipe, taking a moment to salvage a miraculously unharmed energon cube. That would make a suitable snack after his job was done. He was in the bombed-out ruins of an Autobot arms factory in Iacon, which had been mysteriously destroyed in an attack late last night. Everyone had seen the massive footprints. Nobody wanted to talk about them.  


He caught his reflection in a polished piece of metal that had been fractured in the attack. A tall, broad Autobot looked back at him, portions of a truck cab forming his legs, a plough split into massive knee-plates. Yellow and black-striped fins jutted from his shoulders, while two large water cannons swung up over them. Anyone would call him a handsome, strong-looking bot. If he had a different paint-job, that is. Red and blue covered his body, complete with ornamental cyan glass plating on his chest. Even his head looked familiar. You see, Pyro was a dead ringer for Optimus Prime.  


On his Autopedia profile and tax returns it said he was a combat engineer, but his real passion was rescue work. Every life saved, every spark held from extinguishment, was another victory. Before the war (which was becoming less and less a memorable thing these days), he had worked at the New Kalis Spaceport, organising air-traffic and putting out the occasional unfortunate fire. Now though, he trawled through war zones, dodging fire, setting traps, and recovering the wounded. His optics caught a glimpse of silver behind a wall. Ah. His target.  


Powerful fingers dug into the wall and carefully ripped the wall out. Pyro beheld a large cylindrical canister, slightly smaller than he was. It was an experimental glass gas container, holding the dangerous chemical weapon in liquid form. He began the slow process of opening the pressure valves. Slowly, slowly, his digits worked open the first of two valves. As he began on the second one, there was a sudden shout of “Evening, soldier!” Pyro cursed as he crushed the second valve in his hand. The shouting mech recoiled behind a pile of shrapnel as the canister exploded. He peeked out from it.  


Well, Springer, nice job, he thought. You’ve just killed the recruit. Magnus will kill you, and you’ll be thrown out of the Wreckers. He began to step out, surveying the toxic cloud of glass gas. He did a double take.  


Out of the cloud stood Pyro, totally unharmed. Drops of condensed glass gas fell off him, shimmering in the setting sun. He looked at Springer.  


“This morning, I had a shouting match with the leader of the Lightning Strike Coalition, who ordered the air strike on this building, citing a Decepticon attack as justification. It took the rest of his squad to hold him off. He probably could’ve killed me.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m not always the best with words, sorry. What I’m trying to say is I’m not in a good mood.” Springer gave his trademark, Fallen-may-care smile. His massive shoulders, containing air-to-air missile pods, framed a golden chestplate. His limbs were like mighty energon towers. Cyan eyes examined the engineer closely.  


“You went toe-to-toe with Grimlock, huh? Impressive. Though I’m surprised you don’t recognise me…” Pyro put a hand on his hip.  


“Like I said, I had a bad day. And I’m not too much of a fan of the Wreckers, sir.” Springer frowned.  


“Really? That’s a disappointment, considering what I’m about to ask you.” To use a phrase that would not exist for millennia, the penny dropped.  


“You want me in the Wreckers.” Pyro said slowly. Springer smirked.  


“More than that. We’re assembling a new team, and you were shortlisted by Ultra Magnus. That’s my boss. He’s not easy to please.” Pyro folded his arms.  


“I’m sorry, Springer, but as you can see, I’m a little bit busy. Somebody’s gotta clear out these wrecks.” Springer looked away, bit his lip, and then looked back.  


“Pyro, I’m gonna tell you a secret. I’m sorry, but _this isn’t stopping._ ” Pyro tilted his head.  


“Excuse me?”  


Springer stepped down, and looked Pyro in the eye. His cocky optics had taken on a sad light. “Newest intel from High Command. Megatron has infected the core with Dark Energon. Optimus Prime’s going on a mission to see if he can’t clear it out, but it doesn’t look good. Either we all die here, or this goes off-world.”  


“Off-world…” Pyro looked at the ground. The space bridges had all been long-since destroyed. Would the war be the catalyst finally propel Cybertronians off their isolated homeworld? He looked up. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me about the gas attack.” Springer regained his smile.  


“I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff in my time, Pyro. Your file did say you were an outlier, but it didn’t say what you could do.” Pyro gave a shy smile.  


“I was, ah, caught in a bank robbery a few thousand years back. Glass gas got me right in the face and I didn’t melt.” He looked around. “So, um… If I were to join, what would I be doing?”  


“Changing your mind? Good, good!” he exclaimed. Springer produced a holograph projector and threw it on the ground. A series of flickering blue silhouettes appeared. “You’ll be leading a new Wreckers squad. Optimus wants them to be much more restrained than my lot. What’d he call them…? Wreckers we can believe in. Utopian, I know.” He pointed at the holograms. “They’re the best of the best. First off is Ironfist.” He gestured at a chunky, broad robot. “Weapons engineer. What he lacks for in social skills he makes up for in sheer round-per-minute. He’s also the Wrecker’s secret unofficial blogger/chronicler, but don’t tell anyone.” He moved to a lanky, panel-covered mech.  


“Red Alert. Ratchet let us have him, said his bedside manner’s no good. Still, he’s a fine medic, and we’re glad to have him. He’s also accompanying our new air warrior.” Springer pointed to the largest hologram, as big as Springer. “That’s Evac. According to Red Alert, she’s got a soft side. Personally, I think she must’ve lost it somewhere. Doesn’t matter though, she’s the toughest fighter on the team. She’s also got rescue experience, you might like to know.” Pyro nodded.  


“Keep talking, sir. You might convince me.” Springer grinned.  


“I like a challenge. Now, this here is Lightyear and Switchgear, aka Project Powermaster.” One hologram was slightly shorter than Ironfist, and the second was a Mini-con. “A thousand years of experiments allow them to fuse into a single super-warrior. Apparently anyways, I haven’t seen ‘em do it.” He came to the last one. “The last of the young ‘uns, as Kup would say. “Hot Rod. Our only pre-cognitive. Innate stochastic software allows him to make split-second changes to his fighting style to deal with most attackers. We still don’t know how that works.” He picked up the projector.  


“Well, that’s my spiel done. You ready?” Pyro scratched his antennae.  


“Well, I’m flattered but…” Springer looked at him.  


“Let me tell you one more thing, Pyro.” He said. “You can keep doing this, and just deal with what’s happening. Or, you can join me, and change our future. It’s up to you.” Pyro glanced away.  


“I’ll… think about it.” said Pyro, out of pure stubbornness. But Springer could hear the change in his voice. He had him. Springer clapped him on the shoulder.  


“Well, must be off. Good luck, Pyro. I’ll see you at Wreckers HQ in a week, I hope!” He walked off, turned into a Stratoshot-class fighter, and flew into the darkening sky. Pyro watched after him.


	2. A Cyclops Calls

   Working suited Sabaton. She had a head for order, creating a tiny calm in the raging storm of civil war. It wasn’t just ambition that fuelled her; she genuinely enjoyed creating ordered, balanced situations. Which was a bit ironic, as she was currently holding down three jobs to make ends meet.

  Her yellow optics flickered from the holoscreen in front of her to an image of her and her twin she kept on the desk, one small personalisation in her corner of the office. They were similar looking, slender white builds accentuated with stripes of black and red faces. Epaulette, her sister, was flashing their line’s dental crest, two pointed fangs carved into their dental ridge. A single horn jutted from her head. Wheels spun slowly in her hips and behind the plating at her shins which gave her name. Sabaton sighed and turned back to the holoscreen. She was organising the deca-cycle’s budget for her current, long-standing client, who was in the office next to hers. They’d been working together for a while, and Sabaton felt that she was with him out of trust as much as a need for payment.

    Her slowly wandering mind was cut off by an incoming call. Sabaton recognised the frequency. She opened it, and was greeted by a hologram of a single, purple eye.

    “Good afternoon, Shockwave. How may I help you?” she said politely in her low voice.

   “I am calling a meeting of the Combaticons and those attached to them, including you and your sister. Please join Onslaught in his office for the meeting.” Replied Shockwave. As usual, he was totally unreadable. His antennae did not even twitch. Despite her usual calm head, he was one of the few people who could unsettle her.

    “Is my sister aware?” she asked after a second. Shockwave nodded.

    “Of course. She will be joining us via hologram.” Sabaton inwardly cursed. Though she loved her sister, Epaulette was much more flighty. She quelled the annoyance in her and replied to Shockwave.

    “Good. I’ll inform Onslaught and the rest. Please wait a moment and then I’ll patch you through.” Shockwave hung up, and Sabaton stood up. She paced from her little desk setup to the door to Onslaught’s office. She didn’t knock before opening; he wouldn’t mind.

    He was inside, gazing out of the large window at the setting sun over Kaon, the light shining in-between obsidian towers. He turned around, his massive frame blocking some of the light. Not for the first time, Sabaton was impressed at this huge warrior’s ability to move so quietly. His yellow visor glinted as he looked at her.

    “Ah, Sabaton, what seems to be the problem?” he said in a warm voice. He leaned down over his holodesk, which was currently displaying a map of the Rust Sea. Strong, navy arms cut through the flickering hologram. “Trouble, I’d wager.” Sabaton couldn’t help but smile. He was more like her batch initiator than her actual one, Cuirass, had been.

    “A call from Shockwave. Anybody involved in the Combaticons are to come, so that’s you and me, the mechs here, and my sister.” Onslaught stood up with a quizzical expression.

    “Did he say why?” Sabaton shook her head. “Strange… my curiosity is piqued.” He held a finger to his audial, activating his comms. “Everyone, report to my office. Seems we have a board meeting.”

   There was a moment of silence as they waited for the Combaticons to assemble. After a second, Onslaught spoke up.

    “So, how’s your sister?”

    “Hmm? Oh, she’s fine. You’ll see for yourself in a moment.” Onslaught nodded, and returned to examining the skyline. A few seconds later, the crew walked in.

   Blast Off was first, as usual, pushing the door open with one hand, his head held high. When he saw Sabaton, he winked.

    “Havin’ a nice evening, Kneeplates?” he asked. Blast Off didn’t have a mouth, but he was somehow managing to smirk. Sabaton’s face stayed neutral.

     “It’s Sabaton, soldier. And I was, but a certain rocket’s bringing it downhill.” Blast Off looked like he had a witty retort ready, but he was interrupted by the booming voice of Brawl, who had to bend down to get through the door.

    “Oi, Blast Off! You know what Onslaught said!” The tank strode over. “Don’t bother her, it’s not right.”

     “Thank you, Brawl,” said Sabaton in what was her attempt at a sweet voice. “But I can handle our communications officer myself.” Brawl smartly saluted, banging a dent in the ceiling as he did so. “Oops.” He glanced at Vortex, and then looked again. “When did you get in here?”

     Vortex shrugged. “Guess I’m quieter than I looked.   

    Swindle strode in last, finishing up a call to potential buyer. “Heh, sucker… So, what were we talking about?” Onslaught pressed another button on the holodesk. A flickering hologram of Shockwave appeared, who nodded. Another hologram joined him, depicting Epaulette. Her frame was intensely similar, though wings rose from her shoulders and the small of her back, and she had a pair of curved forehead crest. She smiled at her sister.

    “Hi, everybody,” she said, her voice at a slightly higher pitch to Sabaton’s. “Looking good, Blast Off.” The air warrior only shuddered in response. “Shockwave, the floor is yours.”

   “Thank you. Combaticons, you have been given a prime opportunity. Megatron has removed his support for Squadron X.” There was murmuring through the room.

    “No way!” gasped Brawl. “Those guys were pros! I’ve got Earthquake’s autograph around here, I think.”

    Onslaught tilted his head forward slightly. “The black ops team? What does that have to do with us?” Epaulette gave a condescending smile.

     “Jeez, isn’t it obvious?” she asked. “Megatron needs a replacement, and you’re the perfect choice!” Shockwave nodded.

     “Exactly. However, while the new Justice Division hunts down Squadron X, you will have to deal with your challengers.” Another hologram appeared, displaying a group of five mechs. Clearly four of them had car modes, while the size of the last one brought to mind a truck. “The seek-and-destroy unit known as the Stunticons, led by Motormaster. Highly skilled, ruthless, and dangerous.” Blast Off tapped away at his wrist computer. Vortex peeked over his shoulder.

     “Whuzzat?”

    Blast Off continued tapping. “Heretech’s Decepticon Census. I’m having a look at these guys bios.” He stretched his head forward slightly. “Huh. These guys are a bunch of freaks.”

    “How so?” asked Onslaught. Blast Off looked back up.

    “They’re basically a bunch of glitch-heads. A paranoiac, a depressive, a psychopath, a narcissist and a wannabe tyrant. I’m surprised that we keep them around.”

    “Well, the fact that Starscream is still Air Commander should tell you everything.” said Vortex matter-of-factly. A chuckle circled around the room. Though the Combaticons had their differences, lack of respect for the Air Commander bound them together.

   Brawl scratched his chin. “Hold on a sec. What’s the problem then? We’ve got Bruticus and Harmory, they don’t.” Shockwave nodded.

    “That brings us to the crux of the matter. Megatron wishes to settle matters in his own way.”

    “In the pits.” Said Onslaught, coming to the right conclusion.

     “The Pit, capitals.” said Epaulette excitedly. “Which is situated quite close to…”

     “The Ninth Circle, our club.” continued Epaulette. “Which means lots of punters, and an increase in reputation for the Daemocons. Nice work, Shockwave. Looks like you might be giving us some pleasure for once.”

     “That relies entirely on whether Onslaught wins his duel with Motormaster,” replied Shockwave. “I am told he is a skilled and ruthless fighter.” Onslaught folded his arms.

      “Just me and him, huh? I could probably take him.” Shockwave turned away.

      “Probably is not good enough. I deal in 100 per cent chances. The duel is in a week. Good luck.” With that, he ceased transmission.

       Epaulette winked. “Yeah, good luck and all that.  Talk to you later, sis.” She logged off too. Onslaught sighed.

      “Alright team, looks like we just got the ticket of a lifetime. All hands on deck. Sabaton, I want media coverage, we’re gonna hype this up.”

      “Got it.”

     “Blast Off, see if you can get more info on this Motormaster character. His temperament, fighting style, public opinion, the works.”

      “Could be fun.”

      “Swindle, my axe needs a tune-up.”

      “I’ll find my best mech.”

      “Good. Vortex, have a little heart-to-heart with one of the Stunticons. Forcefully, if you have to.”

      “I was hoping you’d say that.”

       “Brawl, our usual regimen will continue.”

       “What, the sparring? Sure.”

       Onslaught adjusted his mouthplate. This was going to be a hard one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there's the second chapter. Hope you guys don't mind OCs!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Thanks for reading the first chapter of Out of the Wreckage. It's a story I've been tinkering with for a few years now, and I hope it continues to entertain you. If not, eh, you probably managed to procrastinate off some studying or something anyways. Thanks, bud.


End file.
